


In Your Orbit

by helens78



Category: Canadian Actor RPF (C6D)
Genre: Cigarettes, Community: ds_kinkmeme, Episode Related, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-09
Updated: 2010-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're never actually going to do anything about this chemistry, but that doesn't make the chemistry go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Orbit

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt left over at ds_kinkmeme, which asked for Callum/Paul UST.

Callum almost throws a fit when he finds out what Paul wants to do with the underwater breathing scene. His mouth opens to say _No_ and to say _Fuck you_ and to say _Fuck you and fuck you and fuck you, Paul, no._

But he goes into the water like a fucking trooper, and he struggles when he's supposed to, quiets down when he's supposed to, and he lets Paul put his hands on Callum's face and _fucking kiss him_.

They get it on the first take, which is a good thing, because Callum's panting and soaked and angry as hell, and there's not a chance on God's green Earth he would let Paul do that to him again. Just--_no_.

Hours later, when he's almost dry and almost warm again, Paul corners him out by the trailers and pulls him inside one--inside Paul's, which means it's got pictures of Paul's _wife_ and it's got a table full of notes and script changes and Callum is this close, _this close_ to just taking a bead from Kowalski and punching Paul right in the face, when Paul grabs a cigarette and tosses the pack at Callum's chest.

"I figure that's about as close as we're ever gonna get to fucking; we might as well have the goddamned cigarette."

The cigarette's halfway to Callum's mouth, but after that--no. Callum stops and puts the pack down, carefully, on the table. "Is that what that was about?"

"No," Paul says, pausing to take a very long drag; he lets the smoke out through his nose and then closes his eyes, and Jesus, _fuck him_, fuck him for making the cigarette look better than half the sex Callum's ever had. "That was about making a really fucking good episode. And you can't tell me they aren't going to love it, because we both know they are."

They, they, the mythical "they" that Paul apparently heard all about through some crazy-ass interviewer, someone who had stories about Fraser and Vecchio. _Doing it._ Like it _helps_, knowing that; like it helps that somewhere out there, at this very moment, there are people thinking about whether it's Fraser who gets it up the ass or Kowalski, whether it's Paul's precious little Mountie who sucks dick or the new guy with the experimental hair.

"It's bullshit," Callum says. "You're not--we're not--"

"No." And there he goes again, smoking, and okay, yes, Callum wants a cigarette--he wants _Paul's_ cigarette, he wants to pull that cigarette out of Paul's hand and do another round of _buddy-breathing_ to suck the smoke out of Paul's _lungs_.

"You were anybody else, I'd kick you in the head," Callum mumbles, dragging his hand over his face. "Son of a _bitch_."

"If I were anybody else, you could bend right over this table and we wouldn't be doing this to each other," Paul says, and does he have to sound so goddamned _pragmatic_ about it? It's not helping--_none_ of it is helping.

"Take your time off. Go somewhere warm. Get laid," Paul says. "Come back, we'll get back to work, you can tell me all about it."

"That's what this boils down to for you, huh? I go fuck this out of my system and you just listen?" Callum raises his eyebrows. "Is that on the 'allowed' list? Why don't I just call you from wherever I go and have you jerk off over the phone?"

Paul just laughs. "Do you ever think maybe what we're doing here is what it is _because_ we're not fucking? Because I think about that. I think about that a lot."

"I think--" Callum shakes his head; he's not going to tell Paul what he thinks. Not right now. Not today. Probably not ever. "I think I'm going. I think I'm gonna go."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Paul says, and Callum nods. He lets himself out of the trailer, lets himself out of Paul's smoke and his fucking _orbit_, wishing the tug of Paul's gravity were just a little lighter.

_-end-_


End file.
